


alone above the raging sea

by thememoriesfire



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-08
Updated: 2011-12-08
Packaged: 2017-10-27 02:26:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/290637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thememoriesfire/pseuds/thememoriesfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rachel had always known she'd fall in love in a spectacular way, when she finally did.  Spectacular just hadn't really prepared for for this.  (AU Faberry, Quinn is born with male genitalia; sequel to 'strange attraction spreads its wings'.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Completely AU. Quinn has male genitalia. This is "a girl with a penis" stuff.
> 
> Author Note: this is still not a realistic portrayal of any sort of intersex condition. It's totally made up bogus shit that I am playing with mostly to see what happens when you take a serious look at the girl-with-penis genre, so it's mostly about like, Quinn's mind space, and in this part, Rachel's mind space. There is no such thing as being intersex and yet having a functional c&b downstairs, so this is not at all intended to be medically sound or possible.

Rachel had always known she'd fall in love in a spectacular way, when she finally did.

Spectacular, to her mind, however, hadn't really covered any of these scenarios:

\- locking eyes with the most beautiful girl she's ever seen while she's cleaning wet slush out of her face, and knowing instantly that it could  _never_  be and that she'd never want anyone else again, either;

\- somehow, becoming that girl's best friend—and in a true sense, where they are each other's confidantes and they spend every free moment they have together, which is lovely except for the part where sometimes Rachel wants to kiss Quinn so badly that it actually forms a little ball of hurt in her chest, and that ball of hurt might supernova one day, and that will  _kill_  her;

\- telling her, unintentionally, just because it was getting too hard not to, and having her react in a way that doesn't hide shock, but copes with it  _so_  well that Rachel falls in love even harder, underneath a lamp post outside of an overpriced Thai restaurant;

\- having that girl bedraggled on the front steps of her house, begging for a place to stay, and then a haircut, and then brokenly admitting to never having been as perfect as she looks now.

It had never covered any of those scenarios, but she has managed to take all of those events in stride.

And then came the day when Quinn paused one of her favorite musicals, and said, "I'm a  _girl_ ", with such emphasis that Rachel felt her breath catch in her throat even before the real story—the real  _truth_ —came out.

When it was over, and Quinn had cried herself to sleep in Rachel's arms—not for the first time—Rachel felt...

She felt distressingly empty, and it was only when it occurred to her that this was something she could  _research_  that her heart reminded her that, no, love didn't walk away this quickly.

It was still there, somewhere behind the emptiness.

It was still there, just like Quinn was still Quinn, even if she did have—

…

It wasn't until a good day later, and a sleepless night later—and Quinn's reluctance to stay in her bed suddenly made more sense, because Rachel has taken health class and she knew about—what happens to—

Was it offensive to think of it as what happened to teenage  _boys_?

She pressed the backs of her hands into her eyes, until it hurt , and even that wouldn't stop her tears.

She wasn't even sure  _what_ she was crying about; the fact that this was happening to Quinn, or that it was happening to  _her_. The mere idea of the latter thought mattering at all made her feel  _worthless_ , but then her daddy knocked on her door and stepped inside.

Rachel took one look at him, felt more tears leak from her eyes, and watched as he carefully sat down on the edge of her bed. "She told you."

The  _she_  wasn't lost on her.

"How long—"

"Not long, Rachel, and she didn't tell me so much as that I caught her with, um, her hands down her pants. Proverbially, not literally," her father said, before carefully sliding his glasses back up his nose. "How are you? Are you okay?"

"I think you should be asking her that."

"I already did, honey. She said you took it really well and that she's lucky to have you."

A knot worked its way up from Rachel's stomach until it lumped in her throat. "I don't know what happens now. I have so many questions, and—"

"She'll answer them. Okay? Don't bottle it up. Just  _talk_ to her," her daddy said, giving her a pointed look. "And no matter what you think, just remember that she's a part of this family now, and—"

"Daddy, I still  _love_  her, I just—"

He nodded, and then leaned down until he could give her a brief hug.

She clinged to his shirt for a moment, and as her alarm went off, she realized that something was missing. Something  _big_.

The something where Quinn hadn't bounded into her bedroom after a polite knock, the way she did  _most_  mornings, if only to stop Rachel's alarm from going off—she hated  _Break My Stride_ , and instead insisted on playing  _More than a Feeling_ , for reasons she wouldn't divulge and Rachel kept guessing at aimlessly—and beat her to the girls' bathroom before—

She closed her eyes. "I'm—let's just go downstairs."

There, she saw Quinn, and her heart skipped a beat as always—but her eyes fought to track down to Quinn's …  _legs_ , and she had to work to sit next to her and eat her muesli as she did every morning.

It was awful. It was awful, because her heart and her stomach were so not seeing eye to eye right now.

There was a possible metaphor there about Quinn and Quinn's—

She closed her eyes, and took a deep breath.

…

They didn't really talk about it.

It was her own fault, for saying she needed time to get over the shock.

Quinn was giving her  _space_ , but space was giving her far too much room to think, about the pertinent questions that were driving her crazy right now. Like: yes,  _male genitalia,_ but how? Are they complete? If Quinn has testes, how does she look like a girl?

Hours spent poring over Google pages in Quinn's absence were getting her exactly nowhere, but when Quinn mumbled something about needing to go in for a check-up and not having health insurance over dinner one night, it was her  _daddy_  Quinn whispered it to, and her  _dad_  who said, "We'll take you. And we'll get you on our plan, okay? Not a problem, s'long as you keep doing the dishes each night."

Quinn nodded, and then glanced at Rachel for a moment, and actually mouthed  _sorry_.

Rachel immediately felt the way people like Santana Lopez, and her cohort of bullies,  _should_  feel. But the way the universe worked, those girls probably slept fine at night, even though they should be ashamed of themselves.

She, meanwhile, lay awake at night and wished this was as easy as she'd always  _thought_  it would be. She was tolerant. She was open to  _anything_.

She just hadn't known to be open to this, because she has known she was gay since she was about eight years old, and now she was fifteen and she was in love with a girl, but—

It wasn't that simple.

It just wasn't.

…

Quinn went out shopping, and came back in low-slung jeans and a plaid shirt and a t-shirt and looked at her a little nervously.

"Do you—I don't know how I feel about it. It's really comfortable but—I don't look— _mannish_ , do I?" she asked, stiltedly.

Rachel felt her heart splinter, and shook her head. "Not at all. Really, not at all."

"I think this is—you know how I have casual dresses and nice dresses? This is—for really casual times, but I think I want to develop a look that's—a little nicer. For  _dates_ , maybe. Or important school dates, with presentations," Quinn said, brushing her growing hair out of her eyes with a vaguely trembling hand.

Rachel swallowed and wondered what someone who hadn't been in love with a girl who wore dresses and had long hair, once, would say.

"That sounds good," was what she finally settled on.

She had questions, like—why not the dresses, but suspected it was about comfort, more than anything else. She  _had_ been reading about—teenage boys, and their  _parts_ , just to get used to the idea that she lived with …. sort-of one, and apparently Quinn needed long showers in the morning for more than one reason and—

Her head was spinning, and then Quinn just smiled and said, "Thanks, Rach."

It came out like there was more that she wanted to say, but she didn't. And that was probably on Rachel, for not having braved the subject of  _the boy parts_  yet, because it was getting to the point where she desperately needed some answers, or at least an indication of how they worked, and how Quinn felt about them. What it was like to be a  _girl_ , but to have decidedly un-female bodyparts that weren't going anywhere.

Everyone acted like there was just  _nothing_  different, and the more she thought about that, the less it felt true.

She was a lesbian.

Quinn had a  _penis_.

Something about that combination of facts was going to have to give.

...

A few days later, Quinn was picking up both of their backpacks and shrugging one over each shoulder as Rachel grabbed the car keys and an apple for the drive, and they bumped into each other when reaching for the door—and her hip knocked Quinn in the—

She flushed, hard, and then said, "Sorry."

"That's okay," Quinn said, taking a measured step back again.

"Does it hurt?" she blurted out. "Because it's—external? Did that—"

Quinn's eyebrows climbed up sharply, and she carefully said, "Well, if you'd hit me  _harder_ , I guess—like, please don't elbow me there."

"My elbow can't possibly reach your—your—crotch area, Quinn," she said, and Quinn grinned a little awkwardly and responded with, "Well, we're fine then, aren't we?"

She was  _so_ beautiful, and when Rachel tossed her the apple, she caught it and took a bite with perfectly even teeth. She was  _so_ beautiful, but she was more than that, too.

She was just a blend of everything she had ever been.

Rachel took in Quinn's now choppy near-shoulder-length hair, and her fondness for sweaters and button-up shirts and pants that flattered her but weren't too tight, and bit her lip.

This version of Quinn, the  _real_ Quinn, looked like a model from an Abercrombie & Fitch catalogue on days she dressed up to go to school, and there was something about the slant of Quinn's jaw and the way she had to keep flicking at least some of her hair out of her eyes, with those endless eyelashes and the small laugh lines that Rachel kept thinking about pressing kisses against—

What she didn't say was that she was fairly sure that she was seeing the real Quinn for the first time, because her heartrate slowed dramatically and she couldn't stop looking at the way Quinn's eyes trained on her. Something was changing, in this moment, and it was changing hard; a new set of thoughts settled in and challenged her, because Quinn was  _so beautiful_ , but she was also—

She was also  _so handsome_ , sometimes, and Rachel felt like a small-minded coward for even thinking that, even though the thought itself didn't put her off in the slightest.

But it would put Quinn off, and that was a problem.

"Yes, we're fine," she said, mustering up her best smile, and letting Quinn take her hand for a moment, exchanging keys for the apple. And those hands were soft, and delicate, and womanly, and they reminded her of the ultimate truth.

Quinn was a girl.  _Even though_ everything else she has thought in the last five minutes was also true, Quinn  _was_ a girl.

"C'mon. Let's try to beat the Slushie hour," Rachel finally said, pulling her hand away again.

"It's okay if we don't make it. I don't know, I kind of—like rinsing your hair out," Quinn said, almost shyly, and Rachel felt her heart skip a beat and her stomach twist with nausea.

Quinn was a girl, but—

Quinn was a girl.

…

Then, one day, it just clicked.

She stopped  _telling_  herself that Quinn was a girl, because Quinn was  _Quinn_.

She had this revelation in the bathroom, of all places, brushing her teeth—and spotting a wad of tissue in the trash that made her cheeks feel heated for a moment, but—

It wasn't entirely unappealing. The thought of Quinn doing something she has seen a wide variety of pictures and videos of on the internet by now was  _not_  entirely unappealing. She could imagine the slightly dazed look on Quinn's face, the way her tongue would keep snaking out and wet her lips, and the way her mouth would fall open just a little.

She could picture the way Quinn would squeeze her eyes shut, and then picture—

Quinn would picture  _her_. She knew that. She knew, because Quinn sometimes stared at her legs a little too long and then stared off into the distance with bright, unfocused eyes. She also knew because Quinn has  _said_  that the half-truths between them were what was keeping her at a distance, but it wasn't a lack of attraction.

She stared at a wad of tissue in the bathroom trash can, and realized that Quinn liked  _her_  and Quinn was Quinn, and suddenly, none of this seemed quite so daunting anymore.

There was a light skip in her step when she headed to Quinn's room, where her best friend—her  _everything,_ really—was sketching something idiotic on a big white notepad, and then looked up curiously at her.

"I really—like your new clothes, Quinn," she finally stammered, blushing a little.

It was so not what she meant to say. It was a re-tread of a far earlier, half-finished conversation, where she'd been too focused on unimportant details to really say what she'd wanted to..

The simple truth is, Quinn looked good.  _Quinn_ , who was now moving to stand in front of her, and saying, "Yeah?" carefully, looked really good, in her soft-looking plaid shirt, with her shy eyes and her ability to read Rachel like she had no secret-keeping abilities left at all, anymore.

They will never talk about how little Rachel has slept in the last few weeks, and how she still wasn't entirely sure about the speech that's slipping from her lips, because what remained true and important in the moment was the disbelief in Quinn's eyes, that then slowly shifted to an unabated kind of happiness.

Happiness that  _she_  put there.

It lifted her heart; made it sing, really, and when they kissed for the first time, when  _Quinn_  kissed  _her_  for the first time, it made everything else seem completely irrelevant.

For a few hours, anyway.

…

Quinn was an amazing kisser.

She was polite about it; Rachel had heard horror stories from Mercedes and Tina about boys who just didn't know when to attack and when to retreat, as it were, but Quinn was something of a lip magician. They'd start out so slowly—it would barely be a brush, and usually with a slight grin on Quinn's face like she still couldn't believe she was  _allowed_  to do this—and then she'd lean in again, for another one of those quick, not-enough kisses that eventually had Rachel reaching for the back of her neck—cupping it, and holding her in place.

Quinn was a tease, but out of  _respect_ , not a desire to frustrate. She kept careful distance between them when they were kissing, and would frequently end up just pulling them both up to their knees, so they could try new things. Rachel discovered Quinn shivered when someone brushed fingertips down by her elbow, and Quinn learned that Rachel almost liquefied if someone scratched at the hair at the nape of her neck, or rubbed a thumb right behind her ear.

They did all of this, while kissing each other gently and softly, and then invariably, Quinn would bite off a small moan and pull back, with a smile so wide it looked almost painful, and then a quick press somewhere innocuous: Rachel's forehead, her cheek, the corner of her mouth, her nose, right between the eyes...

A quick kiss to say, "And we're  _done_."

Then, they'd go back to whatever they'd been doing before, but the temptation to try and find out  _what_  marked the stoppage point was overwhelming, and Rachel frequently found herself looking at the zipper on Quinn's jeans or slacks just to find out if—

And then what if?

She had no idea what she'd do. And she suspected, on some level, that Quinn  _knew_  that she had no idea what she'd do, and that's why they never made out lying down, and never really—dealt with any of that.

She wasn't ready, in general terms, but she especially wasn't ready for the idea that her gorgeous girlfriend—who really, God, sometimes she just looked at Quinn and felt like crying, she was that beautiful—wore boxer shorts.

Or boy briefs.

She didn't honestly know, and didn't know if it was polite to find out. Quinn did her own laundry, for reasons nobody talked about, and—

"What's on your mind?" Quinn asked, doing some chemistry homework next to her. The textbook was covering her lap, and Rachel stared at  _that_ , for a moment, before looking back at Quinn's half-amused face. "I can  _hear_  you think, Rach. It's like you might burst into spontaneous song."

"Do you wear boxers or briefs?" Rachel asked, before she could file this in with all the  _other_  things she wasn't asking about.

Quinn blinked at her, and then blushed mildly and said, "Um—boy briefs. They're—almost the same as girl briefs, but with a little more... space. Obviously."

"Are those more comfortable than boxers?"

"I don't know; I've only ever slept in boxers, but—over my briefs," Quinn said, lowering her pencil to her lap book and then shifting a little. "Um—what about you?"

"Oh, um... well, regular briefs, normally."

Quinn chuckled after a second. "Yeah, I think I knew that, I mean, any time you bend over—"

Rachel swatted at her thigh and shot her a look, and Quinn scratched at her head for a moment before blowing out some air, carefully.

"Wow," she then said. "Um. Can—I ask why you're wondering?"

It was a sudden opportunity, to actually  _broach_  the subject, and Rachel wanted to take it. She really did, but once that door was opened, she had no idea how to proceed.

She  _didn't_  want to hurt Quinn's feelings.

There didn't seem to be any way to say,  _explain your genitalia to me_  that didn't some how end up there, and so she ended up just smiling faintly and saying, "I guess I'm just curious. I mean, you're very careful to not let me see you—you know. Unclothed."

Quinn's expression fell after a second, and then she said, "Sorry. It's not you. I have some... issues."

"I understand," Rachel said.

It wasn't untrue, and she reached for Quinn's hand across the duvet after a moment and then said, "For what it's worth—you don't have anything to worry about. You're beautiful."

"Yeah, well, I know. Most of me, anyway. I just—" Quinn said, and then shook her head. "Never mind."

Rachel watched as she dove back into her homework, and realized that just passively seeing how things were going to develop wasn't going to cut it.

She was going to have to be the one to test her own limits, here, because Quinn was wonderful, and respectful, and  _terrified_  of rejection, and Rachel couldn't even blame her for that.

It was time to actually commit to this relationship, if she was going to. And that meant committing to  _all_ of it, because they were both turning sixteen within the next six months and she knew that most of her friends were already vaguely sexually active, and—the way Quinn sometimes kissed her neck, warm and hot, she knew that if Quinn hadn't had this particular situation, she'd—

"Hey—want to go on a date with me this weekend? I saved up some money tutoring and um, I'd like to take you out," Quinn said, out of nowhere.

There was confidence there, but also so much concern that she was pushing, and this was after weeks and weeks of them kissing, holding hands, and  _being_ , and Rachel suddenly felt like a real bastard for letting any of this worry her so.

The penis—the—whatever it  _was_ , it was a part of Quinn, and she loved Quinn.

That had to be enough.

"Yes. Absolutely," she said, and smiled—feeling suddenly relieved. "Are you picking me up?"

"Yeah, I thought I'd leave the house and everything; ring the door bell, get threatened by your dads—"

"They know I'm in safe hands until I win a Tony," Rachel said, and Quinn sighed so dramatically that she laughed. "I'm teasing, Quinn."

"Wait, the Tony thing isn't real?" Quinn asked, and something about the hint of hopefulness in her eyes had Rachel glancing at that chemistry textbook again.

"No, of course not; I just had to tell them  _something_. But—I'm also not ready."

Quinn blushed a bright red and said, "Well, geez, me  _either_ , I mean, I've never even—"

"Anything," Rachel said, with a small smile.

"Yeah. Anything. With you or anyone. So—"

This was going to go gradually no matter  _how_  semi-excited Quinn looked at the idea that Rachel might be amenable to some sort of process, and she felt herself relax completely at that certainty.

"So—maybe we should kiss a little more, right now? As a starting point?"

Quinn grinned at her a little goofily, and then leaned in—with the same careful distance as always, but Rachel now knew she was going to be the one crossing it, so that was fine.

…

It happened abruptly.

She'd had a  _really_  good rehearsal, at Glee, and she'd been so happy and excited to see Quinn that she'd more or less flattened her up against her bedroom wall, and then—then it had happened.

They'd been standing so close together, and she'd been unintentionally rubbing up against Quinn just because—she had to get on her toes, to exchange the kinds of deep and hazy kisses that she wanted right now. And that slight rocking motion into Quinn's hips—yeah.

There it was.

She glanced down, her chest still heaving a little, and looked at the shape she could see against the seam of Quinn's jeans now. It wasn't—she didn't really know what she'd been expecting, but something  _massive_ , really, was what came to mind. Instead, it was a soft swell, and she reached for it instinctively.

Quinn moaned quietly above her, as soon as there was contact, and then hissed in some air and stayed so very still that Rachel glanced at her face—and the way her eyes were dilating, and the way—they were talking, carefully, about what they were doing, but all she could think about was that she was touching  _Quinn_  and it was doing  _this_  to her.

She felt herself get wet. Spontaneously, and wonderfully, because—and oh,  _God_ , this was the wrong way to think about this, but it really was a relief that—Quinn had reacted to her, and she liked it. She voiced that thought, breathily, when Quinn asked if she was weirded out, and then hugged her so tightly that Quinn chuckled softly and said, "This isn't going to make it go away, you know" after a minute.

"That's okay," Rachel said, and glanced down between them again, at a new, unexpected part of Quinn that she was actually going to get to know, now.

"Are you finally ready to talk about this?" Quinn asked, softly and right by her ear. "Because I know you, Rach; you're nothing but curiosity, and you've been sitting on your questions for months now, and it's been making me really, really nervous. I don't  _mind_  talking to you about this, and—"

She swallowed the rest of Quinn's anxiety in a kiss, and then said, "Let me go make some tea, and then—yes. I'm ready to talk."

…

As much as Quinn said she didn't  _mind_  the conversation, she was nervously fidgeting with the strings on her hoodie and staring blankly into the mug of tea in front of her.

Then, she finally said, "I don't know how much you want to know. Your dad and I, we talked about—you know, my clinical diagnosis and that kind of thing and—is that what you need to know? Or do you just want to know if—how it works  _now_ , or—"

"I want to know everything," Rachel said, quietly, biting her lip. "I want to know—what you feel, how you feel about it. I want to know what—I need to be doing, with regards to it. And—"

Quinn laughed a little weakly, and then ran a slow hand through her hair—now a little longer than chin-length, and she seemed to like it that way—and said, "Okay. Well. I was born with ambiguous genitalia. I've told you that. What I actually meant was that I have both male and female gonads."

Rachel blinked and said, "So—"

"Yeah. I have ovaries. But—not a womb," Quinn said, a little shakily. "I don't really know how that works. I mean, I've seen scans but they're not really clear. The—the ovaries are why I  _look_  like a female, though. They produce estrogen."

"But your testes—"

"Yeah. They produce, um. Testosterone. And—I take hormones to make sure that that doesn't overpower, you know, um." Quinn stopped talking, licked her lips, and then cringed a little when she added, "I take hormones to make sure that they don't go overboard and I don't end up with excessive body hair. I have for a few years now."

"Are you fertile?" Rachel asked, tentatively.

"In what sense?" Quinn asked back, looking straight at her.

Rachel cringed. "I'm sorry, I don't know—I guess, … since you don't have a womb, you aren't—you can't reproduce that way?"

Quinn nodded. "So you're asking if I produce sperm."

Rachel took a deep breath. "Yeah. I mean, well, no. I know you do. Um—the tissues in the bathroom trash, they—"

"Oh my God," Quinn mumbled, blanching spectacularly. "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't—"

"Quinn, it's fine; my tampon wrappers end up in there, and I don't hear you complaining about that."

"Yeah, but that's  _normal_ ," Quinn said, so emphatically that Rachel reached across the table for her hand, and stroked the back of it for a moment.

"You're  _different_. That's not the same as  _abnormal_."

"Yeah, that's why we're having this conversation, right?" Quinn said, faintly rolling her eyes. She didn't sound bitter very often, anymore, but she kind of did right now.

"We're having this conversation because I want to  _educate_  myself on how I can be the best girlfriend possible to you, okay? I'm sorry it's taken me so long. I don't—I didn't  _want_  to offend you, by asking invasive questions. But I love you, and I want to be with you, and I feel like there are things I need to know."

"Okay, well, I don't know if I'm shooting blanks or not," Quinn said, after a long pause, during which they just looked at each other. "We should—if we ever have sex, though, we should use a condom just to be safe."

Rachel nodded, and then licked her lips. "Okay. Um. Well—so you were born with both male and female—gonads. What else?"

Quinn shrugged uncomfortably. "My parents realized that I wasn't growing normally after about—two years. And started taking me to specialists, until we got to Dr. Matthews, who specializes in sexual and reproductive abnormalities."

"That's not  _actually_  how they describe it, is it?" Rachel asked, with a frown.

Quinn smiled faintly. "No. But that is what it is, so..." She hesitated, and then said, "Anyway. By the time I was—five, they realized that I was having some issues... peeing. I again don't know the details, because my parents refuse to talk about this, but they had to untangle part of my urinary tract, I guess, and—make sure I could pee using, well."

She gestured down at her crotch, and Rachel nodded after a moment. "Is that the only problem you've had? Medically, I mean?"

Quinn's lips sort of flickered in and out of a smile. "Aside from nobody knowing for sure if I should get rid of my penis or not, for years?"

"It's fully grown, isn't it?" Rachel checked.

Quinn nodded awkwardly. "I mean, I guess. I don't have much else to go on in comparison but, um, according to my doctor, at least, it does what it's supposed to. It looks—sort of normal, mild scarring from the surgeries I had as a kid notwithstanding."

"And—when people touch it—that feels good?"

Quinn blushed again, bit her lip, and then said, "I don't know. Nobody but me has ever really touched it and even that's a fairly recent development."

"But you like it."

Quinn hesitated and then said, "I don't—dislike it. I still feel like a freak, a lot of the time, but the sensation of—I don't know. The act of touching it feels good. And if I were to have the surgery, I'd lose... pretty much all sensation down there. I'd lose a really big part of myself. So..."

Rachel took a careful sip of tea, and watched as Quinn followed suit, and then said, "Would you like me to touch it?"

A cup of tea was knocked over and Quinn leaped off her stool, fanning at her crotch and murmuring, "Shit, shit, shit..."

Rachel leaned back and reached for the dish towel, letting it soak up the tea running along the table, and then watched as Quinn flicked her wet hands a few times and then sat back down.

"I'm taking that as a yes," Rachel noted.

Quinn sort of coughed and then laughed and said, "Yeah, I'm not—but I mean, if you don't want to—I understand that this isn't what you thought—"

"Quinn," Rachel said, as gently as she could. "I never thought I'd be so lucky as to find someone who is as perfect for me as you are. And you are, perfect. So if the perfect girl for me, comes with a perfect penis—"

Quinn blushed violently and said, "Well, I wouldn't go  _that_  far, I mean, it's kind of weird looking."

Rachel stared at her for a long moment, and then cleared her throat. "Do you—can you show me?"

Quinn's eyes saucered, and then she took a deep breath. "Um. Like—during sex, or you mean like show and tell?"

"I'm sorry, if that's a lot to ask, but I mean—I'll show you mine, I guess, you know. It's only fair," Rachel said, feeling her entire face grow hot even as Quinn blushed more violently.

"I'm—okay. I need to warn you that if you um, stare at it, naked, it's probably going to … react to that a little. I'm sorry. I can't help that."

"But you're okay with me wanting to look?" Rachel asked, with a small, concerned frown. "I don't want to make you feel like a scientific anomaly, Quinn, I just—it's a part of you, and I want  _you_  to understand that I'm just trying to get to  _know_  that part of you. Is that okay?"

Quinn glanced down at her wet jeans, and then said, "That's actually—the nicest way anyone's ever asked to see me without my pants on, so—yeah. That's okay."

"All right," Rachel said, and finished her tea. "Let's—let's do this, then. Together."

"If your dads come home in the middle of this—"

Rachel shuddered . "We'll tell them that—you injured yourself."

"In the  _crotch_?" Quinn asked, looking both horrified and amused.

"Perhaps I kneed you there, accidentally," Rachel said, linking their arms together and then pulling Quinn up the stairs. "We can—come up with something that's better than—"

"I just really wanted to see my girlfriend's cock?" Quinn blurted out, a little awkwardly.

Rachel felt something funny shift in her gut, low, and turned to look at her, halfway up the stairs. "Say that again."

"I just really—"

"No, the end," Rachel requested, and the tips of Quinn's ears glowed red as she said, "Um—my girlfriend's … cock?"

"I like that better than …  _penis_ ," Rachel decided, ignoring the way her voice cracked on basically every word in that sentence. "It's—it makes it seem more—like  _you_ , and less like—anatomy."

Quinn sort of half-smiled and said, "Okay. I'll—bear that in mind."

They stared at each other for another moment, and then Rachel leaned down and kissed her. "Thank you. For being—so good about all of this."

"Don't thank  _me_ ," Quinn protested, but Rachel shook her head and kissed her again.

"I mean it.  _Thank you_. I love you, and I'm going to love you more once I have your pants off, okay?"

Quinn chuckled, tipping upwards for a change for one more kiss, and then said, "Yeah, okay."

…

What Rachel hadn't been expecting was that Quinn in just a t-shirt and the aforementioned boy briefs was—

Well,  _really_  hot.

Her upper body was quietly toned, from the exercise she committed to on a daily basis—and Rachel wasn't going to pretend that a diligent exercise routine wasn't one of the primary turn-ons she  _thought_  she could find in her partners, so that worked well—and her legs were—lovely. Soft, and shapely, and very much like what she wanted her girlfriend's legs to look like.

Quinn had a  _delightfully_ full and firm ass, and seeing it bend over for her now, as she was losing her jeans, was just—

"God, you're so hot," she breathed, unintentionally.

Quinn froze a little, but then stepped out of her jeans and turned around and—

Rachel stared. It was the  _point_ , of asking, and so she stared—at the way the underwear hugged Quinn's hips tightly, and the way it just sort of rounded outwards near—

"You um, wear it to the left, huh?" she asked, after a moment, glancing up at Quinn, who was nervously looking back at her.

"Yeah, um. It's still  _not_  a magnet, but that actually sorted itself out pretty easily," Quinn said, before swallowing hard and then giving her a tremulous smile. "Um—do you want me to—"

"No," Rachel said, and took a step closer, until they were almost chin to shoulder. "I'll do it."

"Oh, God," Quinn sort of sighed, and then took a breath so deep that it was like she was expecting to be held underwater for a long time. Her legs trembled a little, when Rachel reached for her hips, and then pressed her fingers down until they were inside of worn cotton boy briefs, that were then sliding down Quinn's legs.

She had every intention of saying something reassuring, but—then it was just  _there_ , and she found that she couldn't really formulate a single word. It was—well,  _bizarre_ -looking, as all penises were, but for a penis it looked very normal. Not scary in size, and not embarrassingly small, and—

She laughed, unintentionally, and when Quinn stiffened, wrapped an arm around her lower back and shook her head.

"No, baby, I'm so sorry—I'm not laughing at  _you_. I'm laughing because I just realized I must've looked at close to two hundred penises online in preparation for this moment and now I feel a little crazy," she said, before pressing a kiss to the base of Quinn's neck.

"Two  _hundred?_ " Quinn repeated, and Rachel watched as her hands flexed aimlessly by her sides; like she was aching to cover up, but not doing it. Part of that must've been years of practice at being examined; the rest of it was a desperate desire to show Rachel that she was being trusted with this, and that was why Rachel looked up and said, "You're—it's really nice. Compared to most of the ones I've seen."

Quinn flushed almost puce, and then said, in a strangled tone of voice, "Thank you, I think."

"I might also just prefer it because it's—yours," Rachel added, after a moment, and when Quinn looked down at her, she smiled spontaneously. "It's—cute. It's—sorry, but that's the first word that comes to mind, and—"

Quinn bit her lip and then said, "Um—you might want to stop rubbing that spot on my back—I—I kind of—"

Rachel glanced down, and watched as—

"Oh, wow," she said, and pressed down on that spot a little harder, rubbing in tight circles. "Just because—"

"No, also because you're—standing here telling me I have a  _nice cock_ ," Quinn sort of whispered, and then did reach over with one of her hand and shielded her beginning erection. "Um—I think—did you see enough, or—"

"Oh, my gosh, of course. I'm sorry," Rachel said, immediately, and then reached down for Quinn's briefs and tugged them back up her legs. "There. All—covered."

"Okay," Quinn said, exhaling slowly and staring at the ceiling. "Okay. That was … interesting."

"Get on your knees?" Rachel asked, after a moment of watching Quinn compose herself, by murmuring something under her breath and squeezing her eyes shut, slowly.

They blinked back open at that request, widened, and then darkened. The bulge in Quinn's underwear  _did_  react to that, again, and Rachel bit her lip before tilting her head. "You have to be at eye level to see anything, baby."

"Oh, right, yeah. Of course," Quinn sort of stammered, and then did drop down to her knees.

Rachel felt—worshipped, at random, at the look of complete anticipation and quiet devotion on Quinn's face as she waited, and then lifted up her dress by the bottom hem, and said, "Go ahead", in a thick and small voice.

This was really no different from what she'd done for Quinn—and she too was shaking, because this was a  _huge_  ordeal. What if she wasn't—normal? What if she wasn't pretty? What if Quinn didn't like the way she groomed? What if—oh  _God_ , what if there was a smell of some kind?

She closed her eyes, and felt her panties skim down her legs, and then just heard Quinn gasp.

"God, Rachel," she then said, almost reverently, and ran her hand back up the side of Rachel's thigh. "You're so—I mean, I don't know what it's supposed to look like, really, but you're really just kind of...  _pretty_."

"Yeah?" Rachel asked, glancing down—and then Quinn peered up at her through unkempt bangs, and she reached down and ran a hand through her hair on instinct. "You—I mean, it's not unappealing?"

Quinn shook her head, and then got back to her feet. "It's—um. I can't wait to... actually get to know it better."

At that garbled confession, they stared at each other for a few seconds, and then Rachel said, "I'm going to get—changed. Dressed. Well, both, I think. Then I'm going to come back here, and we're going to make out again, and I want to feel what—what happens to you when we do. Okay? I'm going to lie on top of you and—"

"Okay," Quinn said, quickly, and then took a step back.

"Do you like pressure against your... I mean, not like crushing it or anything, but do you—?" Rachel stammered.

Quinn nodded, after a second, with slightly wild eyes. "I think so."

"Okay, because  _I_ do," she said, in a rush. "So—um. Maybe we can experiment with that."

"Okay," Quinn said, again, licking at dry-looking lips. "Okay, well, see you soon. I'll be—lounging on the bed awkwardly, like this is some sort of terrible romantic comedy starring Katherine Heigl or something."

Rachel laughed, because only Quinn would find a way to slice through the obvious tension between them. "Yes, and I'll be fluffing up my hair outside, before pouncing on you like a tiger."

Quinn grinned toothily, and then bowed her head. "It would be my pleasure to be pounced upon, Miss Berry."

Rachel smiled, pulled up her panties, and then didn't breathe until she was back in her own bedroom.

Was she still a lesbian if Quinn's—everything turned her on  _this_  much?

God, she had no idea, but she could think about that some other time.

She had pouncing to get to, for now.

…

Over the course of the next two weeks, and the start of the summer vacation, Rachel learned that Quinn  _did_  like pressure—but better if it came from hands than from say, thighs, or hips, which were both a little harder to control and thus sometimes jerked against her unintentionally hard.

She'd hiss against Rachel's lips, when that happened, and would take a moment to catch her breath, and then they'd go again.

"You have impressive stamina," Rachel noted, breathlessly, on a Sunday afternoon in June. "I thought—well, people  _your age_  with male genitalia were supposed to have premature ejaculation issues."

Quinn sort of laughed and rolled her eyes and said, "I—work on those."

"How?"

A lewd hand gesture later, and Rachel was covering her face with her hands and saying, " _Quinn_! Oh my God, that's awful."

"Well, it's not, it's pretty nice, actually," Quinn murmured, shifting against her and rolling them both over, until she was hovering on top of Rachel, and thrusting against her gently. "Anyway, it's what Google recommended to stop anything embarrassing from happening, and my doctor also said it would just be healthy in general. I'm just following medical advice."

Rachel rolled her eyes, but pulled Quinn down for another kiss, which Quinn interrupted to look at her curiously.

"What about you?" she finally asked.

"What about my medical advice?"

"No, I mean... do you—" Quinn asked, tentatively, before blushing and ducking her head against Rachel's neck. "Sorry, that's such a rude thing to ask."

"It's really not, honey," Rachel said, stroking the back of Quinn's neck, now burning with heat as well. "I don't you to feel like there's anything strange about you. I was just teasing."

"Okay, so you do?" Quinn mumbled against her neck.

"Yeah," Rachel admitted.

Something low against her stomach twitched, at that confession, and she smiled.

"That's—really kind of hot," Quinn said, after a moment.

Rachel thought about Quinn doing the same, and could imagine it a lot  _more_  specifically ever since that afternoon a few weeks ago, and then kissed the side of her head softly.

"Yeah."

They were quiet for a moment, and then Quinn lifted up slowly and said, "Do you think—maybe I could watch, at some point? Because I'd like to learn  _how_  to—you know. Do you. And I'm not sure how I'd learn unless—"

Rachel felt herself get spectacularly wet, and then reached for Quinn's cheek, brushing against it gently. "Not yet. But—someday."

"Okay," Quinn said, licking her lips rapidly and then lowering her eyes to where they were still gently grinding together. "I think I should—get off you now, or this is going to—"

"Are you close?" Rachel checked, in barely more than a croak. "Because I am, and I think if you just—press a little harder—"

She watched as Quinn parted her legs with a firm thigh, and then rocked into her more fully, and her hips arched off the bed and met that thrust half-way.

"Like that?" Quinn asked, out of breath and rough. "Is—that doesn't hurt? It's good?"

"God," Rachel sort of responded, but not really, and then pulled Quinn down into a kiss; a kiss that turned sloppy, and then biting, as the pressure between her legs kept up, and then she felt it happen. "Oh—oh, oh  _God_ , Quinn, I think—"

A hand slipped between her legs and cupped her, with a little more precision than that thigh could, but not much, but it was  _more_  than enough.

"Holy shit," Quinn exhaled, in a choked-off gasp, and then dropped her head onto the pillow, hips still undulating but not with any real purpose.

Rachel felt her spine relax, after long moments of just  _pulsing_  against Quinn, and then glanced down—only to see Quinn grimacing and prodding at her sweat pants with a slightly disgusted look on her face.

"That was really hot," Rachel said, reaching over and tipping her chin up and kissing her. "Sorry if it was too much but—"

"No, just—things get messy," Quinn said, a little awkwardly, and then shifted—but after a second settled in closer again and pulled Rachel into a hug. "Did you—did you like it?"

Rachel nodded, knowing Quinn would be able to feel it, and then looked over her shoulder. "Did— _you_?"

Quinn bit her lip, nodded, and then grinned a little. "I'm going to go in a second though, because um, sperm is kind of—sticky and gross and—"

"I'm sure I'll find out, eventually," Rachel murmured.

Quinn's light fidgeting stilled, and then she cleared her throat. "Yeah, okay, I'm going to take a shower now."

Rachel chuckled, and watched as Quinn almost tripped off the bed and then yanked her towel off the door, and headed into their bathroom with such clumsy movements that it was—

Well. It was endearing as hell, and she didn't honestly think she  _could_  get happier.

…

Except, there were some things that  _weren't_  about Quinn, but that still mattered.

They shouldn't, maybe, but no matter how good she felt, spending time with Quinn,touching Quinn, making out with Quinn—

She was  _still_  gay.

And Quinn  _still_ had a penis, and she was okay with it there, and what it did, in theory, but the few pornographic movies she'd watched in order to determine clearly what she was dealing with suggested that being  _okay_  didn't quite cover what was reasonably expected of her.

She would have to—touch it.

In an ideal world, she'd probably actually take it into her mouth at some point and—

Oh, God, she had no idea how she felt about any of that, and as the summer wound on, she realized that this wasn't something she could talk to Quinn about without destroying her already fragile self-esteem, but she had to talk to  _someone_. Someone who would have a frame of reference, and who wouldn't judge.

It was that thought that brought her to Quinn's room in late August, where Quinn was doing sit-ups, and had her knocking on the door frame gently. "Hey—can I ask you something?"

"Always," Quinn grunted, mid-lift. They'd had a few casual conversations about how she was naturally  _strong_ , for a girl, on account of her unusual situation, but it wasn't an extreme natural advantage, and the reality was that she just—liked being strong enough.

 _Just in case,_ she'd say, sometimes, and Rachel would feel her heart shrink a size at the knowledge that Quinn was forever bracing herself for what would happen if someone found out about her.

"I'm—" she started saying, before stepping into the room and closing the door, and then settling on the floor next to Quinn, legs folded under her. "I'm not really sure how to say this, but—I have a problem, in that I can't talk to my girlfriends about you, and I think I need to talk to someone who isn't... my father, or my girlfriend."

Quinn paused mid-sit-up, and looked at her curiously. "About—"

"About sex," Rachel admitted.

Quinn sat up completely, and then pulled herself up by her knees and sat across from Rachel. "Oh—like—the mechanics?"

"Yes," Rachel said, gnawing on her lip a little. "I just—I don't know. Tina sometimes talks about Mike, and I just—I  _trust_  her, Quinn. I really do. She would never tell anyone, but—"

Quinn stared off into the distance for a very long moment, and then sighed softly. "I'd  _rather_  you didn't."

"But?" Rachel checked.

"But, if this is important to you—tell her whatever you need to," Quinn said, leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to Rachel's forehead. "I've—I may have asked Mike about um, pleasing girls, so—it's only fair. I guess."

Rachel felt her brain freeze over at that small bit of information, and then looked at Quinn seriously. "Do you—want to be with me when I tell her?"

"I don't know," Quinn admitted, after a moment. "Can I have a few days to think about that? Because I like Tina, and double-dates with her and Mike are great, but—she's not  _you_. Telling you was actually pretty easy when it came down to it. I don't know—if I could tell anyone else."

Rachel nodded. "Okay."

"You're not disappointed?" Quinn asked, raising her eyebrows slightly.

It was a regular question, whenever something didn't go  _perfectly_ , and it always made Rachel want to squeeze Quinn in super tight and promise her that she would never be loved any less for making a small mistake, or not doing what other people expected her to.

"No, baby. Never," she said, as she usually did, and then exaggeratedly opened up her arms and waited for a sweaty Quinn to settle in them.

…

A week later, and right before the start of their sophomore year, Rachel found herself in Tina's bedroom, with a box of Pocky and two cokes between them.

"So, what did you want to talk about?" Tina asked, midway through an episode of  _Toddlers and Tiaras_. "I'm guessing Glee? Because, Rachel, you're a  _great_  co-captain, I really mean that, but the academic year hasn't even started yet and sectionals aren't until December and—"

"I want to talk to you about penis," Rachel cut her off.

Tina's mouth fell wide open and then closed, slowly.

"Specifically—what to do with it. And if you like it, at all. Aesthetically and, I suppose, erotically," Rachel added.

Tina stared at her for another long moment, and then cleared her throat. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather talk about Glee? I mean—"

"I  _really_  wouldn't be here if it wasn't important," Rachel said, a little pleadingly. "I mean, as uncomfortable as you are, I assure you this is worse for me, and I haven't even  _begun_  to explain what prompted this—"

"Yeah, actually, hang on," Tina said, clearing her throat. "I don't want to make any assumptions and I understand that you've been keeping it quiet because school is hell without this being like, common knowledge, but—I've  _seen_  you with Quinn, Rachel. And I know that those dinners we have are just covert double dates. I mean—you  _are_  with her, right?"

Rachel took a deep breath and nodded. "Yes. We're very much in love, and I'm very much gay."

Tina squinted at her. "So—you're asking me about um, ….  _why_  are we having this conversation?"

"Well," Rachel said, slowly, and then closed her eyes and just went with the shortest possible explanation.

…

Ten minutes later, they were both eating a Pocky stick and Tina said, "Wow", for possibly the twentieth time.

" _Please_  don't make her feel like there is something wrong with her because of this," Rachel said, emphatically. "She's already not entirely comfortable with me having this conversation but honestly, I'm  _gay_ , and my girlfriend has a penis, and I just need someone to assure me that it's okay if I'm not totally  _wild_  about the thing—"

Tina's Pocky snapped in half and then she chuckled. "Um. Is it  _supposed_  to be attractive? Because it's really—"

"It's not?" Rachel asked, blinking. "Not to you, either?"

"Well, it's just kind of... ridiculous, isn't it," Tina said, blushing furiously. "I mean, it's better when it's—when—"

"Erect, right?" Rachel checked, tapping her fingers against her coke.

"Yeah, I mean, it's a little more attractive that way but—well, I don't want a painting of one up in my bedroom or anything," Tina half-mumbled.

Rachel covered her mouth before she could start laughing, but then did, and five minutes later they were both wiping tears off their cheeks.

"Okay so—it's normal? To not be—incredibly attracted to them?" Rachel asked.

Tina shrugged. "I don't know. I like it because of how I can make Mike feel when I—um, you know."

This was starting to feel very familiar, and after a moment Rachel nodded. "What about—um. The thing that worries me is that I'll find oral sex disgusting, because frankly, I never thought I'd be having it like this and—"

"So then don't do it," Tina said, shrugging when Rachel looked at her. "Not all guys—or, um, sorry—"

"No, that's okay."

"Not all guys like it; um, some of the guys on the football team don't, according to Mike."

"Really," Rachel said, blinking slowly.

"Well, and I mean, I guess that's true for girls as well?"

Rachel frowned and said, "God, imagine if I didn't like oral sex—that's the epitome of sexual relations for, well, gay women, isn't it?"

"Well, it won't be in your case," Tina said, after a moment. "Right?"

Rachel stared at her. "Yeah. You're right"

"Want another Pocky?" Tina said, not without sympathy.

"No, that's okay," Rachel said, shaking her head and finishing her coke. "I think—I mean, this was actually very helpful. I've mostly been educating myself with pornography, which suggests that unless I'm willing to take it up every orifice I have I'm somehow doing it  _wrong_ , but you're right. This is just something for Quinn and myself to figure out."

Tina nodded after a moment, and then tilted her head. "I don't think this makes you any less gay, for what it's worth. I mean, Quinn's a woman. If she was  _actually_  a boy, by which I mean hairy and crazy muscled with washboard abs and—um, bad dining habits and smelly feet and the ability to  _always_  say the wrong thing—"

Rachel laughed. "Mike's—well, I don't know about how his feet smell, but he's a wonderful guy. You know that."

"So you'd sleep with him?" Tina asked, with a smart little half-smile.

Rachel laughed again. "No. Never."

"See? Total lesbian," Tina said, with a wink.

Rachel rolled her eyes, but the thing that she thought when she headed back home, and saw Quinn mowing the lawn in one of her form-fitting wife beater tops and a pair of comfortable looking gym shorts, was that Tina wasn't  _wrong_.

Quinn was a girl. And apparently, not being wild about penis didn't make her  _too_  much of a lesbian. It just meant that—she'd have to take it one step at a time.


	2. Chapter 2

On Quinn's sixteenth, they went out bowling; Quinn was all sorts of gifted at ball sports and basically trounced her, but somehow managed to turn the entire evening into fun anyway, with goofy impressions of the other bowlers in the alley and just enough casual touching for Rachel to feel fairly  _interested_.

Sure, Quinn had been pressing into her from behind mostly to guide her arm, but that still was a lot of contact, and she suddenly realized that—she wanted to see, what it did. What  _Quinn_  did, when she was aroused—and how that all built to a—well, a  _climax_ , for lack of a better word.

In her mind, it was vaguely like a volcanic eruption, but minor; and she would be damned if the end result of this was her own body covered in ejaculate, the way this tended to play out in pornographic movies. She couldn't imagine  _why_  anyone would want that to happen, and also couldn't imagine her girlfriend—so generally shy and proper about these types of things—wanting to go for it.

But—maybe there was some aspect of the lizard brain she just wasn't understanding.

Either way, she wanted to know, and at the end of the night, when Quinn opened the passenger door to the Volvo for her, she pulled her down by her skinny tie and said, "We have another hour and a half before curfew. Can you maybe drive us out to—I don't care. Somewhere nice, some field. Where we have some privacy?"

Quinn's eyes flashed bright at her, and then she said, "Um—what are you—"

"Not  _that_ , but... remember what we talked about, over the summer? About—what we did, to ourselves?" Rachel said, softly.

Quinn swallowed visibly, rubbed at her forehead and then said, "Okay, God, um. Do you have any Kleenex in your purse or should I stop by a 7-11 and get some on the way?"

Rachel hid a smile. "I have some napkins, if that—"

"Yeah, I just don't want to come home with a giant stain, um—anywhere. I think your dads would kill me," Quinn said, blushing and rocking back on her heels for a moment, before looking at Rachel seriously. "And—you're ready for this? I mean, we don't have to. I love just—making out with you, and being with you, so—"

"I want to see," Rachel said, because that really just about covered it. "Okay?"

Quinn bit her lip and nodded, and then closed the door and virtually  _ran_  back to the driver's side.

Rachel tried not to laugh, but maybe laughing was fine, because as soon as Quinn sat down, she lifted again and said, "Crap, I don't know where I put the keys", before pinching the bridge of her nose and looking at Rachel a little frantically.

"Your jacket, baby," Rachel reminded.

"Yeah, of course, that's where they are," Quinn said, checking her coat pocket and then holding them up with a relieved smile. "So—we're doing this?"

Rachel nodded. "We're doing this."

…

Quinn knew about some clearing in a patch of forest outside of town, where she'd apparently gone camping back in the day—and that confession had dulled the mood between them for a moment, until Rachel had reached over and said, "Maybe you and I can go camping" and Quinn had laughed and said, "Yeah, maybe if they build a hotel there, Rach"—that was cast in lovely moonlight, but otherwise dark enough to feel fairly intimate.

Quinn turned off the engine and rubbed her hands together for a moment and then chuckled sheepishly. "Um, do you just want me to whip it out or what?"

Rachel swatted at her arm and said, "Don't  _cheapen_ this. We're retiring to the back seat and I'm going to make you feel incredibly good first, and then—"

"Oh, right. Happy birthday to me," Quinn said, swallowing thickly and then rubbing at the side of her face. "I'm—okay, I'm a little nervous, so—we  _should_  probably kiss for a while and then—"

"Me too, baby, but it's okay. It's just us," Rachel said, but couldn't honestly say if she was trying to reassure Quinn, or herself, that they were ready for this.

She just—she  _did_  really want to see, and the nervousness bubbling up in her belly wasn't entirely unpleasant, and so she opened the door, pushed her seat forward as far as she could, and watched as Quinn did the same, until they were settling in the back together and her bare knees were knocking into Quinn's neatly pressed khakis.

"I really like this shirt on you," Rachel murmured, after a moment. It was a button-down she'd bought for Quinn before the start of school, in a black and purple check, and it looked—yeah, there was just something about the way it made Quinn's eyes stand out.

Quinn just smiled at her, corners of her mouth barely turning up, and then leaned in, sort of nudging her head forward a few times, until they were kissing. And this, already, was so good—they'd just gotten so attuned to each other, in the last five or so months, that every time she so much as felt Quinn's lips  _near_  her own, or saw them, even, a thrill of pleasure would run up her spine. The actual kissing was out of this world; Quinn knew exactly how to play with her lips and her tongue, sometimes teasing with small bites, sometimes nibbling and sucking at the same time, and—God, it wasn't  _her_  birthday.

She reached down, ran her hand up under Quinn's shirt, and stroked at a spot low on her left hip that she knew would made Quinn shiver and arch into her; and Quinn sort of groaned and chuckled at the same time, mumbling, "Cheater" against her lips, before—shifting abruptly, until she was just on top of Rachel, and they were taking up the entire back seat together.

"It's not cheating to know how you work," Rachel countered, pressing a quick kiss to Quinn's chin and then rubbing their noses together for a moment. "It means I'm paying attention, because I love you."

Quinn stopped nuzzling her at that, and then said, "Yeah—you really do, don't you?"

Rachel scooted a little, until she could sit up against the car door and Quinn was more or less between her legs, on her knees, and they were looking at each other with a little more presence of mind. "I do. You're not at all what I was expecting, but—you're everything I could've hoped for, in another person."

Quinn looked down, at the gentle bulge by her zipper, and then looked back at Rachel with a slightly pained expression. "I'm sorry—that I'm not  _exactly_  what you want. I can't even tell you how much of my life I've spent wishing that I was, but—"

"Baby—stop," Rachel said, softly, reaching for Quinn's face with a hand. "I had silly ideas about what  _perfect_ was, and now—now I know that it's unexpected, and wonderful. Okay? I'm sure you didn't plan on falling in love with some big-nosed Jewish girl who sang all the time either, so—"

Quinn smiled against her palm and said, "First of all, your nose is  _fine_ , and second of all, no, of course I didn't. You were supposed to be a  _boy_ , according to the Fabray family life plan."

"Exactly, so—let's not go there, okay? It's your birthday, and I love you, and I want to see how you masturbate," Rachel finally said, not without an embarrassed blush, but—well, it was absolutely mirrored on Quinn's face, until she leaned back and squinted.

"Wait a minute—if it's  _my_  birthday, why aren't you—you know, showing  _me_?"

Rachel looked her girlfriend of six months up and down, and then smiled. "Who said I wasn't?"

Quinn gulped.

…

She felt incredibly exposed.

It wasn't bad, but Quinn's eyes were  _riveted_  to her hand, basically glued there, and the only real sound in the car was their breathing; heavy, now, for a variety of reasons.

She felt exposed, but it really wasn't bad, because Quinn was still hovering over her, and kissing her occasionally—when she could manage, it felt like, because she needed one hand to brace against the window, next to Rachel's head, and the other to—to touch herself, and Rachel was learning  _so_  many things right now.

The internet had made it seem as if  _hard and fast_  was the preferred way of going, but Quinn—was taking her time, with a gentle-looking fist, just sort of gliding up and down in a slow and steady pattern. Occasionally, she'd curl her hand at the end, and run her thumb along the tip, and visibly shiver at that—and if they happened to be kissing when she did it, Rachel swore she felt the gentle nudge of teeth on her bottom lip, every time.

It must be incredibly sensitive, she thought, even as her own fingers approached her clit again and her breath hitched.

Quinn lifted her eyes and looked straight at her, and then said, "Good? That—that right there, that's—"

"Yeah," Rachel sort of croaked, her mouth suddenly incredibly dry at the sight of Quinn's hand acutely speeding up for a moment—like even the  _idea_  of Rachel feeling good was—

She felt her eyes roll back, and then gave up on giving a demonstration and just—thought about the things that normally got her off: Quinn's lips, her smile, the way they kissed, the shape and texture of her breasts, the way she'd moan when Rachel played with her nipples, the way she'd grind herself down when they were making out, and—

Now, there was this. The way Quinn's hand squeezed around her cock, almost pulling on it at times, and the way she trembled when something touched the head, and—

"This is—God, you look really good doing that," she said, forcing her eyes open again. "It's so— _primal_. Is it—do you—"

"It feels—so good, with you here," Quinn said, in a lower voice than Rachel had ever heard from her, and that, too, sent a shiver through her. "With you watching, I mean, God, I don't know—" Quinn added, before closing her eyes and letting her hips jerk into her hand. "I never thought—"

"I know," Rachel said, using her free hand to pull on Quinn's neck again. "Kiss me, please, I'm close—"

"No, I want to see," Quinn said, and then slowed her stroking for a moment. "I've—I've never seen a girl come before, and I want to know what it's like. Is that okay, I mean, do you need some privacy or—"

Rachel laughed breathlessly and then said, "You're so silly sometimes—just kiss me, I'll warn you—oh—God, I'll say when, okay?"

Quinn nodded, and kissed her so gently and sweetly that for a moment it felt like their first kiss all over again, but Rachel felt Quinn's hand knuckle against her own, where Quinn was touching her  _cock_  and she was touching her  _clit_  and God, that combination of thoughts made this anything but innocent; it made her feel hot and sweaty all over, and she broke away from the kiss after a minute or so with a gasp and said, "Now—okay?"

Quinn stopped everything, leaned back, and watched as Rachel pressed down hard with two fingers and her hips spasmed against her hand; she watched as her head tipped back and her eyes closed, and watched as she let go a shaky breath, riding out slow but not at all gentle waves of pleasure.

And then, before Rachel could  _really_  say she was done climaxing, Quinn was kissing her face and saying, "That was beautiful; God, Rachel, I don't—I probably look really stupid in comparison, I wish I looked as gorgeous as you just did. That was amazing, and—"

"Shhh—it's your turn," Rachel said weakly, pressing a kiss against Quinn's lips, when she could reach them. "I love you. Just let go."

Quinn moaned low, at that small instruction, and Rachel watched with half-closed eyes as her hand stopped sweeping along the entirety of her cock and just focused on the tip of it, working there with a combination of squeezes and soft tugs for a moment, until Quinn reached for the napkin next to her and—

Rachel watched her face, and watched as—okay, and to be truthful, the look that passed over Quinn's face when it happened  _was_ moderately stupid, but then her breath caught and—

No, it wasn't a volcanic eruption; it was something altogether more gentle than that, but Quinn sort of groaned her name, when it was almost done, and she'd honestly  _never_  felt more desirable in her life, than in watching her girlfriend basically just  _lose it_  at the thought and sight of her.

Quinn's long eyelashes fluttered against her cheek a moment later, as she panted and slumped forward, and Rachel stroked her hair and said, "I have no words for that, but you're—you are  _so_ lovely. Do you know that?"

Quinn said nothing for the longest time, while catching her breath, and then cursed softly. "Ugh, I think I just collapsed on the napkin—so much for not staining anything."

Rachel laughed softly, and kissed the top of her head. "I'll stand in front of you, when we enter the house again."

"Thanks. Appreciate it," Quinn mumbled, wrapping one arm tiredly around her back, as best as possible.

"No," Rachel said, and looked down at the girl she loved. "Thank  _you_."

…

In November, Quinn stopped by her room in the evening and said, "Um—I have to go in for a check-up. Do you maybe—want to come with me?"

Rachel looked up from  _Wuthering Heights_  and examined Quinn's face carefully. "Are you—yes? Absolutely?"

Quinn looked a little sheepish when she added, "Dr. Matthews is mostly just my physician but she's also been a source of emotional support, and I think it's just important that she meets you, because—you're my biggest source of emotional support, you know."

Rachel couldn't help a smile, and then said, "Come here."

Quinn sort of settled on her lap, holding most of her weight up, and Rachel kissed her neck front and center.

"It would be my honor," she said, after a second. "Is there anything I should know in preparation?"

"No, not really. They do—um, I get a lot of blood drawn, just to keep an eye on my hormone levels. Then we review my medication, and finally there's a cursory physical exam to see if anything—you know. If everything is okay. And after that we talk for a little while about how I'm doing." Quinn shrugged after a moment. "I'm okay. I just thought that, um, my  _partner_  should know about this. In case I ever get sick."

Rachel pulled Quinn into a tight hug, and mumbled, "Your  _partner,_ huh" against Quinn's sternum.

Quinn was silent for a moment, and then said, "I know we're only sixteen, but I honest to God hope I'm going to spend the rest of my life with you, because I can't imagine anyone else ever accepting me the way you have. Sorry if that's like, huge, right now, but—"

"No," Rachel said, and closed her eyes. "That's not huge. That's amazing."

A kiss was planted on her forehead, and then Quinn slid off her lap again and said, "Your dad and I are going to watch  _Jurassic Park_. Do you want to join us?"

"Maybe later," Rachel said, with a small smile.

…

Dr. Matthews was a lovely woman; she had warm brown eyes and blonde hair that she wore in a low ponytail, and she gave them both a lollipop as soon as they'd sat down for the talk.

"Okay—so no concerns?" she asked, and Quinn shook her head.

"I feel fine. Honest."

"Good," Dr. Matthews said, with a very sincere smile. "And it's really nice to meet you, obviously, Rachel. I hope you know how lucky you are to be with our Quinn."

"I do," Rachel said, after a moment, and watched as Quinn fidgeted.

"Okay, um—I do have one thing to bring up," Quinn said, before blushing a little. "Um. We're not—there  _yet_ , but we're going to be having … relations eventually, and Rachel brought up the legitimate concern that I might um, be capable of producing babies. I was wondering if you could help me find out, because if so, we really should talk to her dads about the pill and I mean, I might not survive that conversation, so—"

Dr. Matthews laughed and said, "Shotgun in the study?"

"Rachel's father is a former athlete and very big," Quinn said, with a little twitch. "I've already gotten one lecture on responsible behavior under his roof, so..."

"It's good to know in general, actually," Rachel chimed in, after a moment. "I mean, I've—I'm gay, so I've always imagined that reproduction for me would involve you know, syringes and expensive sperm donors, but—"

Quinn shot her a surprised look, and she blushed after a second.

"Sorry, I know we haven't talked about this and we're  _way_  too young, but—I just think it's important to know, what our options are, and what responsibilities we have towards each other."

"Well, yeah," Quinn said, a little slowly, and then reached for her hand, before looking at Dr. Matthews again.

Dr. Matthews was still looking at them with mild amusement, but then sobered and said, "As you probably know, the vitality of sperm isn't immediately obvious."

Quinn nodded, and Rachel tried not to think about millions of worms, swimming around in jelly.

"We can obviously run a test, Quinn, but you'd have to provide a sample."

"Right," Quinn said, blushing. "I can do that."

 

"Okay," Dr. Matthews said. "Let me get you a cup."

"Wait, right  _now_?  _Here_?" Quinn asked, growing even redder.

Dr. Matthews laughed. "You can take it home with you, if you want."

"Yeah. I think that might be easier, I mean," Quinn sort of stammered, and then rubbed at her forehead. "I'll drop it off again tomorrow."

"Okay," Dr. Matthews said, and headed into the side room to get a specimen container.

Quinn looked at Rachel, and carefully said, "I didn't realize you wanted kids."

"I'm not sure if I do," she responded, and then looked at Quinn for a long moment. "But if I do, and we have a chance to actually make them with  _both_  of our genes—do you have any idea how lucky we'd be?"

Quinn sort of smiled at that, and then cleared her throat and said, "Well, I mean, I'd like to try sex for non-reproductive purposes first, you know, just to get a grip on it—"

"Yes, of course you would," Rachel said, shaking her head.

Quinn just smirked, and then blushed again when Dr. Matthews reappeared with a cup.

"Here you go," she said. "A little goes a long way, so—"

"Thanks," Quinn said, in a strangled tone of voice, and put the cup in her pocket; she strolled out the office at an almost normal pace after that, and Rachel hesitated for a moment before looking back at Dr. Matthews.

"Thank you for making her realize there is nothing wrong with her," she finally said, because that felt as close to what she  _wanted_  to say as she could get.

Dr. Matthews gave her a kind smile in return. "Right back at you, Rachel."

…

A week or so later, in the run-up to Rachel's birthday, Quinn was randomly very quiet during one of their movie nights—which was usually full of fights over the vegan chips and hummus, and who got to pick the first and the second movie, but Quinn had capitulated on all discussion without much fight tonight, and after twenty minutes of  _The African Queen_ , Rachel hit pause and looked at her.

"What's wrong?"

Quinn looked at her, clearly lost in thought, and then shook her head. "Nothing, I just—"

"Quinn, it's  _me_. Don't lie, please. It's okay if you don't want to talk about it but—"

"I'm fertile," Quinn sighed, softly.

Rachel shut up abruptly, and then shifted until they were looking in each other's eyes. "You got the results back?"

Quinn nodded. "I'm—actually  _super_  fertile. I could apparently make a solid living just donating sperm for the rest of my life, if you can believe that." She laughed a little weakly and then rubbed at her face. "I'm sorry, it's just—I don't know. It's kind of a challenge to feel like a  _girl_ when someone tells you that your sperm could basically impregnate an army of women. I don't really know  _how_  I feel."

Rachel looked at her for a long moment, and then just shuffled in closer and pressed into Quinn's side. "I think you'll be okay, because first of all, I better be the only person you have any intentions of having sex with—and second of all, we're—we're not ready, yet, and we know how to be careful, okay?"

Quinn nodded, and sighed. "It's just—have you ever had news that's just sort of knocked your world upside down, even though you could've seen it coming?"

Rachel smiled at her gently. "Yeah. Once or twice."

"Does it get easier?" Quinn asked, and frowned a little. "I mean, does stuff like this get easier to manage?"

"It does," Rachel said, and felt Quinn's arm tighten around her back. "It really does. Just give yourself some time."

…

A week later, Quinn cooked Rachel a lovely dinner for two, and gave her a beautiful charm bracelet with a small music note on it as a starting point, and then knelt on the floor next to her and said, "I want—to do something for you, okay, but with zero expectation of a return at this point, because—it's not about that. I just love you."

Rachel blinked at her, and Quinn laughed awkwardly and then said, "Well, I didn't just want to um, say that I wanted to finger you for your birthday but—if you're not going to understand my subtle allusions to it—"

"Oh," Rachel said, feeling her eyes burst open wide and then giggling out of nowhere. "Oh my gosh, okay. Well, um."

"I'm probably going to need a little while to get good at it but—I promise that I'll really try to make you feel nice, okay? And if I can't do that, I'll obviously stop," Quinn said, even more sheepishly, somehow looking both completely attractive and completely stupid in her  _I Heart The Chef_  apron.

Rachel ruffled her hair and said, "You're—completely ridiculous."

"But charming enough to get into your skirt, right?" Quinn asked, squinting through one eye until Rachel laughed again and then, with a deep sigh, said, "Yes."

...

It wasn't immediately perfect, but she wasn't  _expecting_ perfect, ever; that was the kind of pressure Quinn would put onto herself.

What she was expecting was to feel loved, and the awed way in which Quinn kept looking between what her hand was doing and what Rachel's  _face_  was doing was about anything anyone could hope for.

Tina had warned her that girl or no, as someone without  _girl parts_ Quinn would have  _no clue_  what to do at first, and it was better to just demonstrate with gestures, combined touches, and soft instructions, even if that felt a little—obscene.

By now, though, Quinn had gotten the hang of what she liked, and two gentle fingers, not her own, were softly rubbing against her clit in a broad circular pattern that had her biting her lip and closing her eyes.

"Good?" Quinn asked, with an admiring tremble in her voice, and Rachel nodded, before swallowing and beckoning her upwards.

Quinn looked a little reluctant to lose her visual access to what was going on, but ultimately scooted and then settled at her side, those fingers still moving steadily.

"I love you," she said softly, before trailing some kisses up and down Rachel's neck, and—just like that, it hit her, that she didn't  _want_  to be doing this alone.

She craned her head back, as far she could, until Quinn was looking at her, and then swallowed froma dry mouth. "I want—to do you as well," she finally breathed out.

Quinn's her fingers slowed, and then she exhaled softly. "Are you sure? Because you really don't have to, and—"

"I'm sure," Rachel said, glancing at her alarm clock. "My dads won't be back for another hour, because you were smart enough to indicate we'd be dining for a long time, and—I want this to be about us, together, okay? You're really sweet, for offering, but—"

Quinn reached down, with fingers that were stick with Rachel, and popped the button on her black jeans and worked them down her legs. She was—very much aroused, Rachel could tell, and when the back of her own hand brushed against her cock, even through fabric, Quinn hissed a little.

In less than a minute, she'd lost the bottom half of her clothes, and then Rachel reached over and pulled her v-neck sweater over her head and played with her hair for a moment.

"You're sure?" Quinn asked again, her voice thick with want and anxiety, and Rachel nodded and leaned in for a kiss—and while Quinn was suitably distracted, blindly reached forward and—oh,  _wow_. She hadn't expected it to be quite so soft, or so  _warm_ —and it was dry, which—

Quinn shuddered into her hand and then softly said, "Wait, wait. We need lotion or—I don't know, um—"

She glanced, obviously embarrassed, at Rachel's waist, and Rachel felt her heart skip a beat at just how much Quinn wanted this—wanted  _her_.

"That'll work?" she asked.

Quinn nodded, and watched as Rachel ran her own hand between her legs and then reached for her again; and the glide was smooth, this time, especially after she trailed off at the tip and collected a little bit of smeared wetness of Quinn's own, there.

"How—do you like it slow, or fast, or—" Rachel started saying, when Quinn just stared at the clumsy, uncertain movements of Rachel's hand, and—that was starting to make her feel self-conscious. Was she going to be awful at this, because she  _was_  gay and this part of Quinn simply couldn't be less female if it tried?

Quinn licked at her lips, and then covered Rachel's hand with her own, applying just a little more pressure, and then indicating a pace that was steady and even. "There," she breathed, when Rachel got it right. "That's—"

They both watched her hand go for a moment, and then Quinn let her eyes slip shut as she sank down further onto her elbow.

"Just like this? Is there anything else—" Rachel asked, after a moment, because—she  _knew_. There was something about testicles, but God help her, she didn't want to overstep any boundaries, and—

"Um, no, this is—great, for now," Quinn sort of managed, and then Rachel jolted when fingers suddenly parted her thighs more fully again, and started touching her.

"Oh, God," she exhaled, and focused on keeping her hand steady, the way Quinn had indicated she needed her—but it was so hard to focus, with Quinn getting things right immediately this time, and how molten she felt, low in her belly, with everything they were doing for each other.

"Hey," Quinn managed, after a long moment. "Look at me?"

Rachel did, and watched as Quinn's eyes fought to stay open, and as she bit her lip, and as she almost grimaced with pleasure every time Rachel's thumb swept along the tip of her cock just right—and that, right there, was the most wonderful feeling she'd ever had.  _She_  was giving this to  _Quinn_ , just as  _Quinn_  was giving this to  _her_.

"I love you," she murmured, just because she could—and then a splash of something hot and sticky hit the tips of her fingers, and she looked down and—

"Sorry, sorry," Quinn sort of gritted out, desperate-sounding, and—

Later, when Tina asked how her birthday night had gone, Rachel of course swore that it  _had_  of course been perfect; she definitely hadn't started laughing at Quinn's fumbling apology before, very unexpectedly, having a surprisingly strong orgasm of her own.

Quinn also definitely hadn't fled to the bathroom, mortified, and spent at least ten minutes there cleaning herself up before shuffling back out with her hands covering her bits and a muted look of horror on her face, and it hadn't taken Rachel at least five more minutes to coax her back onto the bed for some cuddling.

No, when Tina smirked at her, on Monday, and said, "Nice birthday?", all Rachel had to say was, "Perfect", really.

It covered how she felt just fine.

…

She still wasn't sure how this related to her lesbianism, in general terms, but Quinn was a  _girl_  and Rachel  _loved_  touching every part of her.

Even  _that_  one.

By the time the New Year rolled around, they'd found another stolen moment to coast along second base, and this time it went a lot more smoothly, but was no less amazing than it had been the first time. Quinn just looked  _so awed_  by the way she could get Rachel's body to respond that it was impossible to not feel beautiful and wanted, and the way that Quinn silently begged her to keep going, when her hand was moving up and down, made her feel like she was singing her first solo in a New York theater. Maybe  _better_  than that, even.

Every part of what they were discovering together was a little miraculous, really, and when they strolled down the hallway in school together—even on days when they got Slushied—Rachel felt  _so_ powerfully happy that it was hard to be actively put out by how ridiculous the social strata at McKinley operated.

Santana Lopez might call her all the names under the sun, but she knew from locker room gossip that Santana Lopez was stuck waiting for Noah Puckerman to figure out how to give her an orgasm, and spent most of her time on her knees giving  _him_  orgasms instead.

She would  _never_  have that problem, and if the trade-off for that was the occasional blue drink in the face that Quinn would then carefully help her rinse out—

Well, she knew who the loser was in  _her_  mind.

…

It was around the time when New Directions was set to compete at regionals, and Quinn would come along with her dads to support her, of course, that Rachel realized that she was ready for  _more_.

More, according to the traditional way of doing things—which they would in fact be sticking to, given that in a bizarre way, their sexual experimentation  _was_  mostly traditional—involved mouths in interesting new places—and as soon as the thought hit her, it became nearly impossible to talk to Quinn, let alone to watch her eat.

Every time she saw Quinn's tongue do something—lick ice-cream off a spoon, or heaven help her, actually lick  _at_ a popsicle—she felt uncomfortably hot, and had to look away and think of Finn Hudson in a towel just to calm down enough to function like a normal human being.

The thought wasn't going anywhere, though, and when they went off to regionals, they suddenly found themselves in the interesting position where Quinn was in a hotel room by herself—Rachel's dads really believed in giving her her privacy, for comfort's sake—and Rachel had a choir leader who paid absolutely no attention to where anyone was.

Midnight thus found her knocking on Quinn's door, and a sleepy Quinn—in her sleep boxers, and her t-shirt riding halfway up her flat belly—opened up after a moment.

"Oh—are we being bad?" she asked, perking up almost instantly as Rachel stepped into her space and kissed her, hard.

"Very," Rachel confirmed, nudging against Quinn's hips and walking her backwards onto the bed.

They didn't need much more negotiation than that, and the next half an hour was spent getting rid of sparse articles of clothing and laughing and rolling around a little bit. This type of freedom, without the risk of any parent walking in on them, was  _very_  unusual, and Rachel knew that Quinn was as determined as she was to make it count—which was why she had no qualms about rolling over on top of Quinn, and rocking into her erection gently, before saying, "I'd like you to go down on me."

Quinn's breathing crashed to a halt, and then she just shivered a little. "Serious?"

"Yeah. I'm—I mean, God, your mouth," Rachel said, a little incoherent with just  _how_  turned on she was. "I just—I can't stop thinking about it, baby. If you're—you don't have to, but if you want to—"

"I want to," Quinn said, so fast that she then blushed, and stared at Rachel's breasts for a moment. "I've—been doing research. And I might've asked... Mike if he had any tips."

"Okay, so—"

"I'll get on my knees; you should be as comfortable as possible," Quinn said, sitting up and pulling Rachel into a quick hug that ended with a kiss on her collarbone. "Okay?"

Rachel nodded, and then let herself fall back, as Quinn sort of tugged her to the edge of the mattress by the insides of her knees, and—she giggled, because this was all very silly, but when she pushed up on her elbows and watched Quinn's mop of hair disappear between her thighs, and then felt that first slow touch of  _tongue_ , nothing seemed funny about it anymore.

It got worse when Quinn's eyes opened again, and stared her down as her tongue kept exploring, and— _God_. She was going to buy Mike a bag of Doritos, or maybe a luxury car, or something, because whatever he'd told Quinn was definitely—

"What are you doing?" she gasped.

"Spelling my name," Quinn said, pulling away for just a second, and then sucking on her clit for the first time.

Rachel saw stars burst into color behind her eyelids, and collapsed back onto her back, grappling for something to hold on to, and eventually settling for Quinn's hair. "God, this is so—oh my God, why have I waited this long, you're  _so_ —" she babbled, incoherently, as Quinn's tongue kept stroking and exploring, and then—

She jolted, at the feeling of Quinn's tongue gently pressing at her entrance. "Oh my  _God_."

Quinn retreated. "Do you not—I mean, I don't have to, but—"

"No, oh my God, do it again," Rachel entreated, and then ran her fingertips up and down Quinn's scalp. "God, your tongue is so— _long_. Are you possibly part reptile?"

Quinn's breathless laughter only turned her on even more, and she didn't think she'd ever come this fast in her life; it took maybe three whole minutes, of Quinn nibbling, licking and sucking at her, and then she surfaced again, with a wet mouth and unruly hair.

"That was—holy hell, Rachel," she said, with an unexpectedly shy smile. "I loved it. I want to do it again."

"Not right now," Rachel said, running her hands across her face and catching her breath. "I need—a minute."

When she lowered her hands again, Quinn was next to her on the mattress, drawing a small Q on the patch of skin on her right hip, and Quinn was—God,  _really_  hard.

It felt like crunch time, out of nowhere. Could she do this? Could she return the favor?. Or maybe not  _return_ it all the way, but the least she could was  _try_ it, because Quinn was so hard it looked almost painful, and had been  _so_ wonderful about everything, and—

Quinn's cock was a  _part_  of her.

What would it actually mean, if Rachel rejected it now?

She stopped looking at it after a moment, and then glanced at Quinn. "Can I try—"

Quinn nodded. They'd talked about this. Rachel's vague, unclear apprehension was a matter of the public record between them, and Quinn hadn't seemed offended in the slightest when she'd noted that she might just not  _enjoy_  that much face time with a penis; in fact, her response had been, "I'm honestly not sure I would either, Rachel, and that's fine."

But—Quinn's mouth on  _her_  had felt so good, and she knew what she could accomplish with her fingers by carefully stroking the tip of Quinn's cock, which meant that her mouth there must feel—

That thought, really, made her  _want_  to do this. Maybe it wasn't entirely about her enjoyment; maybe, this was just a  _gift_.

She shifted towards the edge of the bed, and then hesitated. "How do you think—"

"You don't have to get on your knees for me, Rach," Quinn said, stopping her with a hand to her thigh. "Sit at the edge of the bed, maybe? And I'll—"

"Our height difference isn't that substantial," Rachel said, shaking her head. "Maybe—can this be done lying down?"

"I … don't know. Probably?" Quinn said, before glancing down at herself. "It's fairly—flexible. I mean, you could—"

Rachel sighed, rolled her eyes at how hard they were making this on themselves, and then said, "Come on—sit on the edge of the bed, and I'll get on my knees just like  _you_  did, and as long as you can promise you won't try to, um, to put it crudely,  _fuck my face_ —"

Quinn's cheeks flamed. "Jesus, Rachel, I'd  _never_ —"

"I know, baby, I'm just saying," Rachel said, before taking a deep breath and pulling on Quinn's hand. "And—I'm sorry if—"

"Hey—don't," Quinn said, with a small, gentle smile. "If you hate it it's because you're, you know,  _gay_. I know it's not personal."

"Yeah, but still—I really liked what you just did to me and—"

"Rachel, the fact that you're giving this a go at all is like, the most special thing in the world to me, okay?" Quinn cut her off, and then squeezed her hand for a moment. "It's okay if you don't like it.  _I_ might not like it."

Rachel nodded, after a moment. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah, really—okay," Rachel said, and stepped off the bed and sank down onto her knees, and watched as Quinn somewhat awkwardly sat down in front of her, her erection jutting up and slapping against her stomach for a second, and—

It was all so silly-lookin, but the suppressed look of excitement on Quinn's face really was  _not_ , and with that thought Rachel leaned in closer and just—licked, a quick stripe up the side.

It was just  _skin_. Quinn's skin, and it—it didn't smell bad, and it tasted just a little sharper than the rest of her, and so she pressed a few kisses along the side of it, and then—hovered over the tip, watching as Quinn's hands dug into the edge of the mattress and her hips trembled with how hard she was pressing them back into the bed.

This wasn't about  _boy parts_ ; this was about wanting to make Quinn feel good, and so she poked out her tongue and swiped at the tip, and listened to the way Quinn swallowed a moan above her. The same gesture inspired the same result, and came with a slightly bitter, salty after-taste this time, which meant Quinn was leaking pre-cum and she was—she was making her feel  _amazing_ , even with this little effort.

No, this wasn't something she'd ever imagined doing, but she was doing something for Quinn that nobody else could—nobody else ever  _would_ , and it was reducing Quinn to a shaking, nervy mess.

She glanced up for a second, and then said, "I don't … mind it."

It wasn't an exaggeration; she didn't claim to  _love it_ , which would be pushing it, but she didn't hate it, and after a second Quinn stroked her hair and said, "Rach, I mean it, you really don't have to—"

"It'll feel amazing, though, for you—if I try to—you know, take in more, won't it," Rachel checked; her hand was instinctively taking over from her mouth, and Quinn's eyes glazed over for a second, and then focused on her again.

"It  _would_ , but I really don't want you to do it unless  _you_  want to, okay?" she finally said.

Noah Puckerman would  _never_  be this considerate, and looking at the way Quinn's eyes were focused on  _her_ —not on what she was doing, but just her eyes—she felt so suddenly overwhelmed with affection that she shifted upwards, and pressed a quick kiss to Quinn's lips—tasting herself, and forcing Quinn to taste herself a little as well.

"I don't think this will be a regular thing, but—I'm curious. About how much I can take, I mean," she finally admitted, a little sheepishly, when she pulled back a little. "I mean, I have virtually no gag reflex and excellent breath control, so—"

Quinn just sort of groaned and bit her lip in response, which made her smile, and then she looked back at the task at hand.

Quinn was a girl, and this was just another part of Quinn, all of whom she loved.

With that thought in mind, she closed her eyes and leaned down again—

—and no more than five minutes later, Quinn pulled on her shoulder and gasped out, "Stop, stop—I don't want to come in your mouth—Rach—" and then stumbled off into the bathroom, only to reappear with a dazed expression a few moments later.

"Are you okay? I mean, was that..." Rachel asked, getting back to her feet, and settling on the edge of the bed. "I wasn't terrible at it because—well—I'll be honest, it  _won't_  be my favorite thing we do together."

"Um, Rachel, you were great at it; really great, but I don't  _need_  you to do that," Quinn said, cheeks still rosy and eyes still unfocused.

Rachel couldn't pretend she didn't feel a little bit proud. "Like I said, I don't think it'll be a regular thing but—I  _love_  making you this stupid for me, so... Occasionally, maybe?"

Quinn sat down next to her, and then tackled her into the a hug that had her giggling and squirming, until they kissed and Quinn basically nodded off right there on her shoulder.

Rachel was awake for a little longer, because this wasn't what she'd thought tonight was going to be like anymore than this was what she'd thought her  _life_  was going to be like.

But what, honestly, was there to regret? She was in love, and going to win regionals tomorrow, feeling a hell of a lot more relaxed and settled and sure of herself than she otherwise would have.

Santana Lopez should envy  _her_ , at this point. Not the other way around, for sure.

…

The idea of being a gold star lesbian was absolutely unimportant to her, even though gold stars were kind of her  _thing_.

It just felt juvenile, at this point, to ascribe an entire sexual orientation to a distinction between  _vagina_  and  _penis_. It wasn't that simple, nor was it nearly as complicated as Rachel had thought it would be.

They were almost seventeen, or Quinn was, and they were about to be juniors, and their dads had started grilling them a little on their college plans. Quinn was planning on going to art school, somewhere in New York, and even though everyone asked her ten million times if she was  _sure_  she didn't want to look at other cities as well, Quinn always just shook her head and said, "Just New York."

Rachel, of course, didn't get the same kind of questions, because she'd known where she wanted to go since she was six years old, but—honestly, she would've probably given up New York if Quinn  _hadn't_  want to go.

They were a team. They did  _everything_  together, and vastly preferred spending time with each other to spending time with anyone else, and when Quinn looked at her, late in August, and said, "Rach—I know we're still young, and I know you wanted to wait until you had your Tony, but—"

"Baby, you  _know_  that was a joke," Rachel said, squeezing Quinn's foot where it was poking against her thigh.

They were out on the back porch together; Quinn was reading some magazine special about the French impressionists and Rachel was  _Wicked_  for the eightieth time or so, and it felt like another slow ending to another perfect day.

They'd gotten so many of those, in the last two years. Rachel had stopped wondering when they were going to run out of them, and most of the time, she was fairly sure that Quinn had as well. They were learning to trust that they'd  _earned_  this, together.

Mercedes called them disgustingly happy, and in a way, Rachel figured they deserved that.

In front of her, Quinn took a deep breath and then blurted out, "This is  _so_  not to pressure you, or anything, but—I'm ready. Whenever you are. I just wanted to put it out there."

Rachel smiled after a second. "Talk to me when we're both seventeen, okay? Sixteen just sounds  _so young_. I don't want to scar anyone reading my memoirs."

"Are you planning talking about our  _sex life_  in your memoirs?" Quinn asked, in a slightly nervous tone of voice. "Rachel, I'm  _really_  not sure if I'm okay—"

"Baby— _still_ joking," she said, flicking the arch of Quinn's foot.

Quinn kicked at her thigh, and then said, "Okay. But you're serious about seventeen?"

"Yeah," Rachel said, after a moment, glancing up again. "We're not in a hurry. We have the rest of our lives."

Quinn smiled. "No complaints from me, here. That's  _so_  much better than whenever you win a Tony. Not that you won't, obviously, but I like the certainty of the 18th of December. Or, well, I guess shortly after that, because there is no way your dads are letting me be alone with you on your birthday after what happened um, you know, in June."

Rachel flushed violently. "We're  _not_  talking about that."

"Just saying," Quinn said, clearly trying not to laugh.

They were silent for a long moment, and then Rachel poked Quinn in the foot again.

"Hmm?" Quinn said, distracted.

"Love you, you perve."

"You too, baby," Quinn said, poking her in the thigh with a pointy toe.

…

It was two days after Christmas, and her dads were going to some annual LGBT holiday season fundraiser in Columbus, and were somewhat grudgingly letting them stay home together. She'd overheard a slightly anxious conversation in which her daddy was calmly saying that  _the kids_  knew what they were doing, and that they were going to find ways to do it anyway, and that "Rachel's first time really shouldn't be in the back of a Volvo, so let's not force them to go there".

Her dad had been wildly upset, at the idea of  _his baby_  being old enough for this, but a few murmured reminders of how old they themselves had been had calmed him down. A somewhat persistent glare in Quinn's direction was the only aftermath of the conversation, and Quinn shouldered that well, realizing pretty quickly that it was the kind of stamp of approval most in-laws could only  _dream_  of.

And so now, they were alone.

They'd cooked a vegan lasagna together, just because it hadn't felt right for one person to orchestrate the night, and were now working their way through a carton of ice cream together, on opposite sides of the couch.

 _Hook_  was on TV, and Rachel eventually glanced over and said, "I'm  _so_ nervous."

Quinn nearly dropped her spoon, and then looked over a little shyly and said, "Yeah, I know. Me too. I mean, I know I'm  _ready_  but it's still just a huge ordeal, you know? So—if we want to just push it back, and—"

"No, but I mean, can we—maybe be a little less awkward than we're being right now?" Rachel asked, her voice smaller than she intended it to be.

Quinn looked at her for a long moment, and then turned off the TV and put the nearly finished ice cream on the table, and then looked at Rachel and said, "Want to go upstairs and argue about watching a musical?"

"Yes, please," Rachel admitted, and waited for Quinn to get up and offer her a hand as well.

She didn't let go, the entire way up the stairs, and then realized that all she'd really needed was that moment of a connection, because when they got upstairs, she realized that she  _was_  ready, to do this.

"You—you  _have_  condoms, right?" she asked, when Quinn closed her bedroom door behind them, and then shoved her hands in her back pockets and nodded.

"And—you've been taking the pill? You're—" Quinn asked, a little awkwardly.

Rachel nodded. "I've made sure. I've been on it long enough and um, I haven't missed any days or anything. Honestly, if anything goes wrong, God would just be punishing us, and he won't. God is—forgiving."

"Your God, maybe," Quinn mumbled, and then pushed away from the door and moved to stand in front of Rachel. She wasn't overdressed; this was Quinn at her casual smart, with her hair a little on the long side—near her shoulders again, and she looked so  _lovely_  and so much like the girl in the dress Rachel had fallen for at first sight two years ago, out of nowhere, that Rachel pulled her down into a kiss.

They didn't need to argue religion, or consequences, or anything else. They'd done all of that, and right now, all she wanted was to just be with Quinn.

Two sweaters piled up at the foot of the bed, joined by a long skirt, tights, and eventually, a bra and a pair of panties, and a pair of slacks, boy briefs, and another bra. Their socks, they shucked when they were already mostly under the covers, and then they looked at each other a little sheepishly.

"I've seen you naked … well, not nearly often enough, but a few times," Quinn said, quietly. "I'd—I mean, is it weird to say that I'd like to see a little more, now?"

Rachel shook her head, because they were  _more_  comfortable with each other than this—and so they slipped back out of the covers and met in the middle of the bed; the room was a little chilly, and Rachel pressed in close to Quinn to feel everything about her that she loved: gentle hands, the soft swell of her breasts, the flat plane of her stomach, and the nudge—constant reminder, really—that Quinn was  _incredibly_  attracted to her, pressing against her hip.

"You're so pretty," Quinn said, right into her ear, and then shifted until they were touching literally everywhere, and Quinn was almost between her legs. "I just—can we just kiss for a while? And—do stuff we've done before?"

Rachel ran her hands up Quinn's back, and then locked them together between her shoulder blades, and nodded. "That sounds—like a really good idea."

"Good. I'll never get tired of kissing you," Quinn said, her eyes already slipping shut, and then they were back in familiar territory, lips slanting together softly and wetly, and bodies gently rocking without any real purpose.

She loved feeling this covered, and protected, by Quinn; it was a stupid thing to want as much as she did it, but she just  _adored_  feeling Quinn all around her, and knew that Quinn got a similar kick out of shielding her. Biological expectancies notwithstanding, someone had clearly made them for each other, and it was at that thought that Rachel spread her legs a little bit more, and reached for one of Quinn's hands and pressed it between her thighs.

Quinn no longer needed help with this, and knew her almost as well as she knew herself, but when Rachel reached down to return the favor, Quinn laughed softly and said, "Please don't; I'm already worried I won't last very long, because you're going to feel so amazing."

Rachel felt herself soak, at the certainty in Quinn's voice, and then cupped her face. "I'm—I think I'm good. I'm, I mean, I can't get much more ready, so—"

"Yeah?" Quinn asked, with serious, heavy eyes, and a serious, heavy voice, and Rachel nodded sharply, just to make sure there was no doubt.

A fumble around Quinn's nightstand later—during which a trusted bottle of lotion fell to the ground, which made Rachel smile and Quinn mutter, "shut up", softly—and she was watching as her girlfriend rolled a condom down her cock, checking it a few times just to make sure it was all there.

"I never thought I'd—like seeing that, as much as I do," Rachel admitted, and Quinn looked at her in surprise. "I—honestly, I don't ever think about what it would be like if you had... well, a vagina, anymore. I used to, when I first found out. I thought the world had played a cruel joke on both of us, given how much we loved each other, but—this is  _you_. How can I not love you?"

Quinn's face relaxed into the most beautiful, soft smile, and then she lowered her eyes and said, "Sorry if... sorry if this hurts. It's probably going to be uncomfortable, for a little bit, but I'll—I'll try to go slow, okay?"

Rachel nodded, and pulled her down for another kiss and then closed her eyes as they readjusted; she felt, instead of saw, as Quinn reached down and, oh,  _God_ , okay. Her first thought was,  _this is never going to work_ , but then it  _did_ , sort of, and she cringed unintentionally because—it was tight. Quinn wasn't  _gigantic_ , but she was definitely bigger than two or three of her own fingers, and it wasn't until Quinn looked at her with a slightly pained expression and hushed, "Rachel,  _breathe_ " that she even realized she'd started holding her breath.

It let go, at that small plea, and then she watched as Quinn just hovered over her, careful not to move; it looked like it was costing her a lot, really, to stay so still, and Rachel rubbed at the scruff at the back of her neck and focused on—relaxing. She'd read that that was important, in general terms, and after a few moments of just staring into Quinn's eyes, she felt—yeah.

"Go on," she said, her voice catching on the words, and then watched as Quinn braced herself and rocked forward just a little bit more.

"That's—oh, geez, baby, I don't know—" Quinn said, her eyes slipping shut. "That's it, I—are you okay?"

Rachel nodded. "I'm—yeah, I'm okay. I think—if you go slow, you can—"

Quinn's arms buckled slightly, and then her hips shifted, and—it burned, a little, but beyond that it felt really, really—she just felt  _so close_  to Quinn, and ran a hand down her back to press down on the base of her spine, as if to feel where they were connecting, but from the outside.

Quinn carefully thrusted a few times, slow and easy, and then blinked her eyes open again and said, "Okay? If you hate it I can—"

"I don't hate it," Rachel said, and then slipped a hand between them. "I'm—keep going. I'm not sure I can come from—just  _that,_ but it feels good. I feel really—"

"Yeah, me too," Quinn agreed, in a soft pant, before dropping her forehead into the pillow next to Rachel's and locking her arms at the elbows. Her next few rocks forward created a delightful full body tension, and Rachel had never,  _ever_  felt so close to her.

It wasn't about girl, or boy, or about  _cock_. It was—this was her and Quinn, and what  _they_  could do  _together,_ and at the sound of Quinn's wheezy, unfocused breathes right by her ear, and the feel of her trembling arms, Rachel felt herself begin to let go.

"I'm—" Quinn sort of breathed, before sucking in another deep breath and working her hips a little faster, and jerkier, and Rachel rubbed her clit steadily, because it would be  _great_  if they could finish together—mostly for Quinn's feelings about her abilities, as it clearly didn't actually matter—and she knew that with a few more moments of focusing on all of the sensations washing over her at once, she would be—

Quinn sucked in a deep breath, and jerked against her, hard, and Rachel felt her spine go rigid, and—just at that, just at how much this was affecting  _Quinn_ , she felt herself let go as well.

It wasn't the most amazing orgasm she'd ever had, but the breathless way Quinn shivered on top of her was  _so_  intimate and special, that that  _really_ didn't matter.

She half-expected one of them to start rambling, or at least to start asking questions and offering reassurances, but Quinn's breathing just slowed, and Quinn's arm reached for her shoulder and squeezed there, and she herself, too, felt like there was for once absolutely nothing to say at all.

Not until Quinn shifted, and then awkwardly tied off a condom and walked that over to the bathroom, and then Rachel just watched as she walked back into the room again: her wonderful, amazing girlfriend.

"I'm so glad it was you," she said, when Quinn settled in behind her and pulled her into a hug, pressing a wet and teasing kiss against her spine that made her sigh and laugh softly at the same time.

"Me too, Rach. I wouldn't have wanted this with anyone else," Quinn murmured, behind her.

She felt her eyes drift shut as Quinn stroked at her hip with careful, loving fingers, and then reached for her hand, tangling their fingers together right before nodding off for a quick nap.

…

Rachel had always known she'd fall in love spectacularly, but the word spectacular really just didn't quite cover how she felt when she opened up her eyes, and saw Quinn's messy hair peeking out from under the covers next to her.

Nothing about what they had together was what was expected, really, by either her own standards or the archaic ones that Quinn had grown up with—but she also really wasn't sure she'd ever expected to be quite  _this_  happy with someone else.

Quinn was a girl, albeit one with some add-ons that Rachel never thought she'd learn to deal with, let alone love, but all of those technicalities faded into nothingness at a much more all-encompassing pair of thoughts:

Quinn was Quinn.

And she was ever so lucky, because Quinn was  _hers_.


End file.
